Chapter 40- The Empty Throne
The throne beside mine is empty. That is the first thing I notice every single time I look up.
Not the blood still drying across the marble beneath the nobles' feet. Not the physicians kneeling in terror near the base of the stairs. Not the guards standing stiff with fear while pretending not to stare at the corpse cooling beside the pillar.
The throne.
Her throne.
Empty.
It sits there beneath the gold banners of Elysium like some kind of cruel joke, untouched and silent, with Ophelia's crown resting carefully atop the dark cushion where she left it earlier this morning.
Small compared to mine. Delicate. Thin silver curves wrapping around pale gemstones that catch the torchlight softly every time the flames flicker.
Waiting for her.
The sight of it makes something vicious twist inside my chest.
Because my mind keeps expecting movement.
Keeps expecting her to walk through the doors laughing softly under her breath because she heard shouting from the hallway and already knows I'm threatening someone again.
Keeps expecting warm fingers to brush my shoulder while she leans close enough for lavender to replace the scent of blood in the air.
Every few moments my body reacts before my mind does.
A shift beside me.
A movement in the corner of my eye.
And I look.
Every Goddanm time i look. Only to find nothing there except an empty throne and a crown without its queen.
The silence beside me is unbearable.
Before Ophelia, court was always quiet around me. Heavy. Suffocating. Men spoke carefully and only when spoken to. Servants moved like ghosts. Fear ruled this room long before I ever sat on the throne.
Then she arrived and ruined it.
She spoke too much.
Laughed too loudly.
Dragged warmth into places it never belonged.
She would lean toward me during council meetings and whisper things completely inappropriate while diplomats discussed trade agreements.
She stole fruit from noble tables during court.
Once, during an argument between ministers over taxes, she spent nearly twenty minutes drawing flowers on my documents because she said everyone looked "too angry to be productive. "
I should have stopped her.
Instead, I let her ruin me.
Now the throne beside mine feels like a grave.
The hall remains deathly silent while I sit motionless beneath the empire banners, one hand resting against the armrest hard enough the wood groans quietly beneath my grip.
A servant trembles while refilling wine several feet away. Another avoids looking toward the body entirely, eyes fixed desperately on the floor as guards drag the corpse away and scrub blood from the marble with shaking hands.
The scent remains anyway.
Blood always remains.
One of the older nobles finally clears his throat carefully from somewhere near the center of the hall.
"My Emperor," he says quietly, "perhaps the court should adjourn for the day."
I look at him slowly.
The man pales instantly.
I sit there staring at him with the same cold stillness I would use to examine a broken sword.
The noble swallows hard beneath the weight of my gaze.
"The physicians..."
"The physicians," I interrupt softly, "suggested cutting my wife open like livestock."
The room tightens immediately.
The physicians kneeling below the throne steps lower their heads further.
Cowards.
Every single one of them reeks of fear now, yet seconds earlier they spoke about my wife's body like it belonged to the empire instead of herself.
One had the audacity to tell me the heir mattered more.
More.
The word still echoes violently inside my skull.
I remember standing beside Ophelia's bed while she lay motionless beneath silk blankets, her skin pale and damp from fever while blood stained the corners of her eyes like someone had painted suffering directly onto her face.
And those men stood there discussing survival rates.
Probabilities.
Necessary sacrifices.
As if I would calmly stand by while they carved into her body searching for my child.
As though I could hold an infant with shame for forcing it to grow in this cruel world without it's mother .
"Your Majesty, surely you understand they meant only to preserve the future of the empire..."
"The future of the empire," I repeat quietly.
I rise slowly from the throne.
The entire court stiffens instantly.
The noble's voice dies in his throat.
Torchlight catches against the blood still staining my hands as I descend the stairs one measured step at a time.
I have not washed them.
Part of me refuses to.
Her blood dried across my skin hours ago and still I feel like scrubbing it away would somehow erase proof this happened.
The noble begins backing away instinctively as I approach him.
"I wonder," I say softly while stopping directly in front of him, "if your wife lay unconscious in her chamber... if blood poured from her as she he desperately clung to you for support..."
My voice remains calm.
Gentle, almost.
"...would you still speak to me about preserving the empire?"
The noble trembles visibly now.
"My Emperor..."
"Would you care about this kingdom?."
I tilt my head slightly.
"Yes or no?."
The room is silent except for the distant scrape of guards dragging the dead man's body from the hall.
The noble looks sick.
Good.
"I..." He swallows. "No."
I nod once.
"Then stop speaking to me about this kingdom."
He immediately lowers his head.
Pathetic creature.
I turn away from him slowly, gaze drifting back toward the throne.
Toward her throne.
Still empty.
Something sharp twists beneath my ribs again.
She had been laughing just hours ago.
Gods.
Actually laughing.
Talking nonsense about giant spider men from her ridiculous books while eating chocolate from that damned drawer.
I had thought she looked beautiful.
Hair messy from leaning against the shelves. Eyes bright. One hand rubbing absentmindedly over her stomach while she argued with me about fictional monsters like it was the most important discussion in the empire.
I remember how quickly it happened.
How confusion replaced amusement.
How her face changed the second pain hit.
I remember the glass shattering.
The blood.
The sound she made while vomiting into my hands.
I can still feel her shaking against me.
Still hear her whispering what's happening to me over and over while I stood there useless.
Useless.
The word crawls beneath my skin like poison itself.
Because I could kill armies.
Burn kingdoms.
Crush rebellions beneath my boots.
Yet none of that mattered when my wife looked at me terrified and I had no idea how to save her.
Rage spreads through me slowly again. The kind that settles deep enough to become permanent. Someone in this castle did this. Someone walked these halls beside her knowing exactly what they planned.
Someone watched her smile and poisoned her anyway.
My gaze drifts across the room.
And suddenly every face looks wrong.
Every servant too nervous.
Every noble too careful.
Every guard too still.
I look back toward the crown.
Toward the empty seat.
And for one brief horrible moment I imagine it remaining empty forever.
The thought nearly splits something open inside me.
I see her ghost everywhere now.
In the throne beside mine.
In the lavender scent lingering faintly across the hall.